Slash and Burn
by SomeOddThings
Summary: Becoming someone else takes its toll on the human mind. One can only be undercover so long.


It was four weeks before I would have to forget everything I knew about Kal Hanwell. I would have to become and live as another. One who never had really existed. It was four weeks till I had to become an international terrorist, to do things I hadn't really done before. Within the room that I called home, I sat on the single bed thinking about the past months regarding this operation I would undergo. Having trained for it day after day, every time revisiting the development and psych departments. Learning to blend in with the help fellow operatives who had matured in these skills and becoming mentally sharper and more prepared. I was taught to always look behind my back since there would be no one to do that for me during the three years I would be inside Talons ranks. In a few months time I would manifest the identity of William Sunderland, an ex military grunt with a history of violent and malicious offenses. Having served through the omnic crisis killing more than needed he was the perfect persona to steal Talons attention. But becoming him didn't have its advantages. Within Watchpoint Gibraltar, throughout my training, I was subjected to various methods of torture and interrogation. Learning how to withstand them and not give anything away and in turn becoming a tougher person than I already was. Kal Hanwell was allowed to feel emotion like sadness and happiness but Will Sunderland had been through so much most of his emotion had died a long time ago meaning I had to change as well. Change to be like Will. This testing since it was so rigorous and stressful, my psyche would be consistently monitored with the medical miracle worker known as Angela Ziegler. She had been helping me to cope since the start of my training. Through her methods of medicine and strong knowledge into the psychology of the human brain she medicated and nurtured me so I could complete my mission. We got to know one another to a point where we had become friends. Sharing small anecdotes of one another's lives and how we ended up where we are working for this organization. I put my faith in her to upkeep and maintain my mental stability and she completed the task to the best of her ability.

Returning back to my bed, I arose and made my way to the mirror. Looking at the man in front of me always stifled me in a way I couldn't describe. Small bruises and cuts covered the features that defined me. Blunt object had mostly caused the trauma since my interrogators wanted to teach me how to counteract the pain and improve survivability. It reminded of the countless times after the exercises where I would walk through the Watchpoint towards the mess hall. Faces new and old would stare and see me in the almost unrecognizable state I was in. The main reason why I would go down would be to talk to those I considered my closest friends and most trustworthy teammates and also grab ice for my aliments. We would always have each other's backs no matter the situation but that wasn't going to be possible for the next years ahead of me. Tracer usually sat on the last table on the left in the large hall along with McCree and some others. I would rightfully accept my place at the end and talk about the day and what had happened. Usually it was the same old story about training or some military exercise since Overwatch wasn't exactly a legal independent organization. It was these times spent with my friends, which I would really miss. McCree would always be a brother to me. He and I spoke regularly and it was he, through pressure and a bit of schnapps, I confessed my feeling about Lena. I always have had feelings about her but never said anything. From the minute she introduced herself to me I had felt something inside me move. The way in which she spoke, laughed, interacted and lived was all I loved and more. Yet now I couldn't risk having any feelings towards her. I wasn't going to see my teammates for years and I couldn't afford to keep any contact when I was undercover, as it would jeopardize my life and have horrific consequences. After talking, I would retrieve the satchels of ice and return to my room usually with the help of Lena, which of course I was grateful for. After we talked I would say goodnight to her and wave her off and she would chirp and walk off whistling a wonderful tune, one which I never remembered the name of. I couldn't recall the number of times I was tempted to tell her how I felt but I held back remembering what I had to do.

It became a ritual. Acquire the ice, make cold water, soothe the bruises and rebuild and prepare for the next day.


End file.
